Through the workshop window I could see bright yellow light pouring from our kitchen across the yard.

Mark was laying plates on the oilcloth table, and Lily was pouring milk into four glass tumblers.

Ten years ago, I believed a family was something you held together by gripping the pieces until your hands cramped.

I believed that if you worked sixty hours a week and paid every bill on time, nobody could ever tear your home apart.

Tonight Vanessa was somewhere out along the state highway, without Rob’s money and without the house she had meant to sell.